


Hold On

by dazed_cyprus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is trying his damn best, Dean is kind of a dick, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Reader-Insert, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, Winchester Sister, sam winchester is a good brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazed_cyprus/pseuds/dazed_cyprus
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM, DEPRESSION, AND SUICIDAL THEMES. READ WITH CAUTION.You are Sam and Dean's adopted younger sister. You have been dealing with depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts. When you end up in a compromising situation, will Dean and Sam be there to save you?*Ongoing Story*





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is very roughly based on my personal experience with self-harm, depression, and suicidal thoughts. My intention is to tell a story that correctly depicts the struggles of someone going through something like this. It is not happy, it's not 'kiss it and it's better,' it's real life for a lot of people. I hope you like my story. Please stay safe. If you are in any way triggered by anything dealing with these themes, I would not read this. Thank you.

I've been dealing with depression since I was 11, and the boys had no clue. They picked me up off the street when I was 15. My parents, big sister, and little brother had all been killed by a shapeshifter when I was sound asleep in the next room. I don't know why or how I got away, but I did. I woke up to my mutilated family and two giant men in my living room, standing over a dead body that looked exactly like my sister. I knew it wasn't her because I had just seen her lifeless, bloody body in her room upstairs, and my sister wasn't a twin. Sam and Dean took me in after that night. I had no other family to be passed on to and quite frankly, they pitied me. I learned about the hunting life pretty much instantly. They couldn't exactly hide it from me, seeing as my family had been killed by something supernatural.

Sam and Dean became my brothers. Sure, I missed my family, and it still hurt like hell on the anniversary of their deaths, but I moved on and became a force to be reckoned with. I quickly became known in the hunters network as the third Winchester. I was a fighting machine like Dean, I studied everything and became a walking dictionary like Sam, and I had an empathetic quality that Sam and Dean were lacking. Don't get me wrong, those boys loved me with all their heart, but they were a bit rough around the edges. I had a knack for softening those rough patches, but they were still the Winchesters, I could only get so far.

I lost my family five years ago, and I was now 20. My depression followed me and it got worse every year. I never told my surrogate brothers, in fear they would kick me out, or throw me in a mental hospital if they found out exactly how bad it was. The self-harm and suicidal thoughts came in waves. One day I was just slightly down and the next I was tearing my thighs and arms apart like it was my life vest, like slicing my skin to pieces was the only thing keeping me breathing. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me from ending everything. But through it all, I kept a smile on my face and long sleeves on whenever I was around the boys. They didn't suspect anything. I guess they just thought I was always cold.

In the past few months my depression had become the worst it's ever been. I was struggling to stay above the water that was creeping up around me. My so called "life vest" was hardly working anymore. I was running out of places to rip apart on my scarred up arms and thighs, and I was drowning. I needed help.


	2. The Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Flashbacks are in italics. 'Y/n' is your name. 'Y/n/n' is your nickname.}

Dean, Sam, and I were hunting a pack of werewolves and I royally fucked up according to Dean. He started ripping me a new one on the drive back to the Bunker.

"God Y/n, you could've gotten us all killed back there! That was completely unacceptable. What were you thinking?"

My oldest brother started yelling the second we were all in the car.

"Dean, I was just trying to help! Why are you so pissed?! I am a great hunter, I don't need you to treat me like a baby, I can take care of myself! I just saved our asses back there and now you're mad at me? What's your problem Dean?"

I was yelling back now, completely pissed off. Who was he to yell at me?

"You don't need to be treated like a child? You think you know what you're doing? I beg to differ. Look at my brother Y/n, you almost got him killed! Look what your stupid fucking decision led to!"

Dean rolled out all of his anger and worry for Sam and dumped it on me, and I was now silently crying in the back seat.

"Dean I'm fine, it's not a big deal. I've had worse and you know it. Lay off of her. She got hurt too."

Sam tried to soften the blow of Dean's harsh words, but they did nothing to quell the rage and hurt I was feeling.

His words fell off both of our backs as we snapped in unison, "stay out of this Sam."

Dean blamed me for Sam getting hurt and I had never been in a fight this bad with him. The worst part was that he said my brother, not our brother, his brother. He didn't even consider me his sister. After five years of living with them, fighting, watching them die, patching them up, being there for both of them when they were butting heads, Dean still didn't see me as family. That was my tipping point.

"I'm sorry you can't see we would all be dead if it wasn't for me." I calmly said, as I was mentally preparing myself to leave my family for the second time in my short life.

If they didn't want me anymore, then fine, I'd pack my shit and leave. Dean just stared out the windshield gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. I was staring out the window in the back seat replaying the events that led to this.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The mutts were holed up in a barn out in the middle of nowhere. Dean was supposed to go in first and I was meant to follow behind Sam. Everything went according to plan and the first two werewolves were killed no problem. We knew there were three, but the last one was hiding pretty damn well. After we staked the place out, and there was still no sign of it, we thought it had run off._

_"I think we should hide out in the Impala and wait for it to come back," Dean suggested. Sam agreed, so we packed up our gear and headed out of the abandoned barn._

_Dean was a few steps ahead of Sam, and I took up the back. I almost made it out of the doors when the straggler jumped down from the rafters and knocked me to the ground. It dug its claws into my shoulder blades and was about to bite me on the neck when Sam ripped it off of my back. My shoulders hurt like a bitch, but like the Winchester I had become, I pushed it to the back of my mind ready to gank that motherfucker. After all, it had just ruined one of my favorite shirts._

_"Y/n/n! You good? Did it bite you?" Dean rushed over to me and helped me up, all the while pestering me with a million questions._

_"I'm fine Dean, it's just a scratch. It didn't bite me, I'm good. Go help Sam."_

_Sam was busy fighting the last werewolf and Dean went to go help. It looked stronger than the last two and the boys were struggling to put it down. I saw the situation in front of me and I did what any other hunter would do, I called the attention to myself._

_"Hey bitch, come take a bite out of me, I dare you."_

_I was prepared for a fight, gun in hand, but just as it was lunging towards my jugular, Sam jumped out and grabbed it around the waist. The werewolf turned around and dragged its claws across his chest leaving four long gashes in its place._

_"Sammy!" Dean and I called out as Sam fell to his knees. Dean caught him before his head hit the floor, and as shaken as I was, I now had a werewolf to kill._

_The monster sneered and locked its sight on me, ready to pounce. I let it stalk towards me until it was just a few feet away. My adrenaline was pumping as I stared the creature in the eyes, and aimed my gun at its heart, just as it was jumping towards me. I pulled the trigger and watched as the monster took its last breath, then turned to my brothers to check on them._

_Dean had gotten Sam up and both of them were staring at me with a mix of rage, worry, disapproval, sadness, and some other emotion I couldn't understand. I shrank under their intense gazes and waited for the talk I could feel coming._

_"Dean, I-"_

_"Get your ass in the car. Now."_

_Dean was livid and I turned to Sam for help, but he shook his head and pointed towards the barn doors._

_I turned around and started back to the car when Dean stopped me._

_"Y/n, don't you dare get blood on my seats. Lay down a blanket got it?"_

_I flinched at his harsh words, not expecting such a lack of emotion, but just nodded as I kept walking. I knew then I was in for it._

_My brothers thought I was crazy. Great. Maybe I was, maybe I did want that werewolf to kill me, to end it all._

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the drive back was uncomfortably silent. Sam was pressing a T-shirt to his chest to staunch the bleeding from the gashes. Dean had his signature rage-pout on, and he was driving entirely too fast. I was in the back laying down on an old army blanket to soak up the blood coming from my own injuries.

I didn't think I would need stitches and good thing too. I wouldn't be caught dead in front of my brothers without a long sleeved shirt, let alone no shirt at all. I knew the second they saw my arms or legs, they would kill me themselves.

When Dean peeled into the Bunker's garage and Baby was in park, I jumped out of the backseat and booked it to my room. I was furious at Dean for his utter lack of understanding.

"Y/n, get your ass back here, we're not done!"

Dean shouted after me, but I was set on getting to my room and slamming the door in his face.

"Fuck you, Dean! I'm done. I'm done with everything. You don't want me here anymore, fine! I get it Dean, I'm not your sister. You don't have to rub it in my goddamn face."

I screamed the harsh words over my shoulder, effectively stopping both boys in their tracks. They watched me storm off to my room, and sighed at the sound of my door slamming shut.

"Great job Dean." Sam muttered while he grabbed his bag from the trunk and headed off to the kitchen to grab the first aid kit.


	3. The Collapse

_"Fuck you, Dean! I'm done. I'm done with everything. You don't want me here anymore, fine! I get it Dean I'm not your sister. You don't have to rub it in my goddamn face."_

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second my door slammed shut behind me, I was a mess. I knew Dean had anger issues, hell, the whole world knew he was not someone you wanted to be around when he was pissed, but I had never known him to be heartless. How much had I screwed up to make my surrogate brother hate me so much?

"Dean hates me he doesn't want me around anymore. He hates me..." I was talking aloud to myself while pacing my room trying fruitlessly to stop the mess of tears that were pouring down my face. I couldn't keep it together anymore so I let go, screaming at the walls as if they were listening and hurling my possessions in every direction. It was as if a tornado had touched down and obliterated everything in its path. It was childish, I knew that, but I couldn't bring myself to care. For the second time in my life my family had disappeared. I was alone and that never ended well for me.

Eventually, I ran out of objects to throw and so I settled into the fetal position on the edge of my bed and just laid there, willing the harsh sting of rejection to fade into a dull ache, but it never did. I was on the brink of passing out from exhaustion when I felt the burning pain in my shoulders for the first time since I locked myself away in my room. Realizing I had forgotten to take care of the gashes that wretched dog had carved into me, I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed to my bathroom. In reality, it was just feet away, but it felt like I would never get there.

I switched on the light and stared at my reflection, minutes passing, yet it felt as if no time at all had gone by. My face was puffy and red, tear stains dried on my cheeks, and my hair was disheveled. I turned while removing my shirt and looked over my shoulder to see how much damage had actually been done. Four long, somewhat deep scratches ran from the top of my shoulders to the bottom of my shoulder blades on both sides of my back. It had stopped bleeding a while ago I guessed, as my shirt clung to my raw skin when I took it off. I surmised I wouldn't need stitches after all, and I turned back to face myself in the mirror. The most disturbing part of my distressed appearance wasn't my torn flesh; it was my eyes. In place of my usual bright and vivid orbs were dull, lifeless, clouded eyes that could pass for dead persons. I stood facing my mirror-self and disgust flooded through me with a vengeance.

Why was I so worthless? Why couldn't I do one goddamn thing right? Why did no one love me?

Questions raced in my mind and I was drowning again. Stuck in a deep, hazardous ocean as wave upon wave of helplessness, hopelessness, crashed over me. I couldn't breathe; I was dying and there were no means for escape. I had to reach my life-preserver or I would surely die right here on this tiled floor. Before my mind had registered with my body, I was tossing the contents of my bathroom not caring how much of a mess was made as I searched for the sole object that could bring me an ounce of peace. Eventually my fingers wrapped around a small plastic bag containing multiple sharp, metal blades and I selected one from the pile now strewn atop of the counter. I chose the blade that I knew was the sharpest and took a shaky breath as I admired the shiny piece of silver.

I placed the sharp edge against my already marred forearm and pushed down and across, effectively tearing my skin in two directions. The relief I felt was miniscule and I sighed understanding that one simple cut would do nothing to quell the feelings that were quickly consuming me. I moved up further on my arm and I pressed harder as I pulled the metal through my flesh opening old wounds while creating new ones. Blood pooled into the cut and a few beads made their way over the line I drew in my skin, but it wasn't what I was searching for. I wanted more; I needed more. I gave up control to the irrational side of my brain that lusted for the red liquid and I ripped through layer after layer of skin at a pace that would have my arm looking mangled in no time at all. Blood seeped from the numerous self-inflicted incisions falling in droplets into the porcelain sink below me, yet it still was not enough.

I was treading water now, above the surface but fading quickly. Any minute I could sink back under and never resurface. Time was irrelevant to me and I had no idea how long I had been carving up my own body. I sat on the tiled floor, back against the counter staring blankly at the tub in front of me. Both of my forearms were a constellation of red, puckered marks bleeding too slowly to cause any dangerous amount of blood-loss. I couldn't tell where I had started from where I had stopped, and my thighs showed the same. The crushing weight of the water was lessened and I could breathe again, though the questions still screamed in my head.

Why was I like this? Why had they ever taken me in? Why can't I just be good enough?

The small puddles of blood I was surrounded by had clotted into a sticky mess that clung to every surface it touched, and my whole body ached from sitting on the hard floor. I stood on trembling legs looking for the pain meds I had stashed in the cabinet somewhere, but the bottle was across the room on its side by the toilet. I had forgotten about the mess I had made looking for my blades, and I stumbled over hair products and dirty clothes trying to reach the pain relieving tablets. The bottle had the name of one of my many aliases. After getting stabbed by a shifter last year, I needed surgery to fix the damage. It was the good stuff, and I hadn't touched the pills in months, but I needed something to fog my mind up, to make the voices stop. I dumped the contents of the container into my bloody palm and counted; there were eleven pills left. I debated taking just two or three, but everything hurt too much. My shoulders, my arms, my thighs, my mind, my whole being ached for release and I had the cure cradled in my hand. I was certain that even if the medication didn't kill me, it would knock me out for hours or even days.

This moment had been a long time coming, I knew that. Everything was wound so tight it was bound to break at the smallest push in the wrong direction. Dean hadn't known that though. It wasn't his fault; I never talked to either of them about my feelings. I always just shut them out. I didn't blame them for one second and I needed them to know that. Even if they didn't want me, I loved them with every fiber of my being and I had never truly shown them how much they meant to me. I exited my bathroom; pills still grasped in one hand, and looked for a piece of paper and a pen.

I wrote all of my thoughts down for the boys who were my brothers in every way that mattered, and signed it with the nickname they had given me years ago. It was time and I was beyond ready to just stop feeling. Stop being. Stop thinking. Just, stop. I locked the door to my bedroom and made sure the piece of paper revealing all of my love for my brothers was visible in spite of the state of disarray my room was in. I slowly made my way back to the bathroom and l stood at the threshold viewing the mess of blood that told a harrowing story. This is what I was leaving behind; heartache, self-loathing, hopelessness, fear, a depression so deep it clung to my very soul.

I sat down, my back resting on the edge of the tub and started downing my release held in the form of white tablets.

1 swallow. 2 swallow. 3 swallow.

On and on I went until all eleven pills had been swallowed dry and now sat in my uneasy stomach. All I had to do now was wait patiently for the end to near. I was content in my decision and I knew Sam and Dean would be too. After all, they just took me in because they felt sorry for me. They never truly loved me as one of their own. I just regretted them having to take care of the mess I had made of everything. I had questions still, yet they became harder and harder to focus on as time crawled by, passing slowly as if it didn't care I was waiting for it to catch up with me. I cursed the universe for moving so unhurriedly. I wanted the release from my damaged, scarred, bleeding body. I wanted to escape my mind, the one that screamed horrible things at me, and the one that drove me to take my own life. I wanted to become no one, nothing, a senseless being with no purpose, no thoughts, I wanted darkness.

As these thoughts raced through my head, I was aware of my breathing becoming slower and slower, I noticed my vision fading out, my hearing all but gone, my sense of touch disappearing, my heart thumping along trying in vain to keep me alive, my release was so close I could feel it and I welcomed it with open arms and a smile on my face. As I took my last breaths, I head a crashing sound, I heard voices but couldn't make out what they were saying, I felt something warm touch me and I hadn't realized how cold my body was until then. Something strong wrapped around me I was being pulled away from the tiled floor as an object was shoving itself down my throat while something else pressed hard on my stomach.

I was confused now, was death supposed to feel like this, was it supposed to be so utterly uncomfortable? My mind was working so slowly, it was like I was trying to wade through quicksand. I couldn't think anymore, I couldn't breathe, I was being held down by something hard and I wanted it to let me go.

I wanted darkness, a sense of nothing when I died, not this, certainly not this. What was happening? Why can't I just die already? As the questions grew in numbers, the quicksand grew thicker and thicker. Nothing made sense anymore. I couldn't feel anything, and the familiar blackness that came with slipping into unconsciousness showed itself, and I let go, finally surrendering to the darkness waiting for me. Everything went black and nothing mattered.


End file.
